


Lurch

by StickyPeppers



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Hance - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Pining, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StickyPeppers/pseuds/StickyPeppers
Summary: Lance can't handle the friends with benefits situation he's in anymore. He entered with ulterior intentions, but now his feelings are too much to handle.





	

No. He’s got it all wrong, right?

The thrum of a heavy heart’s a little too thick in his chest, melted maple weighing him down with gooey sugars. Maybe it’s nothing, just like the way his fingers shake as he touches his skin. Is he scared? Of what? Hunk can’t be broken, not by such a feather-light instance, never. There’s nothing new to the way they’re set up on his apartment’s couch, either. How their bodies are slotted together is a puzzle built up for the umpteenth time, you come to recognize how each piece fits where. But Lance feels heavy,  _ too heavy  _ to be straddling Hunk’s hips.

He keeps telling himself that he’ll only fall in love if he stays the night, but the way his heart oozes in his chest can tell you a different story.

“Lance,” he can hear Hunk breathe out under him, “what’s up, man? You’re not lookin’ too hot.”

Lance shrugs. His shoulders shake and he swears he can feel his bones grate against each other as he moves.

“Excuse  _ you _ , I’m always looking hot,” Lance muses, letting his fingers flutter over Hunk’s shoulders. Hunk tenses up, then he sees that  _ look _ when Hunk wants to hear it straight.

“Yeah,” he lies, “I’m good.” Lance leans in to press his mouth against Hunk’s. The tension slips from Hunk’s frame and into the cushions beneath them with a pastel sigh. Lance can feel the quakes in his hand as he brings it to Hunk’s orange bandana, slipping it down over his eyes. Then he trails his kisses higher, up along his forehead, his temples as he combs his fingers through his silken hair. Lance is being softer than he usually is. Usually, he’s not bothered by affections that teeter on the edge of his bottom lip. It’s been a slow build like the world’s greatest structures, but he lacks the support to keep it up.

Hunk glides his fingers along the tendons that contour Lance’s neck and Lance shivers. He slowly nuzzles against a hand when the fingers grace his cheeks, brings a hand to hold it there. Hunk’s hands are dried out from constant baking and washing, the duties of work in vehicle parts, the harsh chemicals of car wax but Lance can’t help but feel soothed by them anyway. They radiate a thick warmth from the creases and the split of his fingers.

Hunk is a sweet, sweet boy. Never misses a beat when it comes to lending help to those who need it. Lance can’t begin to name all the times he sat with him hours on end as he screamed over useless banters or cried his ice cream into a nasty pool of dairy. But Hunk’s never tender like this, he’s not  _ soft  _ like the hands on his face.

“Oh,” Hunk chuckles and it startles Lance and makes him squeak. Hunk only giggles more, patting Lance’s face with goofy motions, “There you are! Space awareness is a little hard when, y’know.”

“Hm?” Lance shakes his head, “Oh, yeah, good point.”

Hunk was being Hunk. Too perfect, too  _ oblivious _ . Or maybe just a little too quiet. He’ll watch, but he won’t interact unless someone asks him to. Lance wants him to speak up, to force it out of him. Though he’s not sure he’d even know what to say.

Lance lets the hand go. His own stutter in the air, unsure where to go until he decides he’ll hold Hunk’s shoulders again. His movements feel rusty as he leans down again, presses his lips to Hunk’s wide nose, then the bridge, then the expanse covered by the bandanna, each more chaste than the next.

Lance feels his hips being squeezed and while meant encouraging, while he  _ knows  _ it’s encouraging, he begins to tremble. Hunk reacts quick and lets go. He brings his hands back to the curve of Lance’s jaw and lets his index fingers pet slow along his cheekbones and  _ ‘No, don’t’ _ is all Lance can think.  _ ‘Don’t be soft- don’t- _ **_don’t_ ** _ ’ _ .

There’s an ache behind Lance’s eyes and it pulls forward tears that totter just at the rim of his lids. His lips get pulled into a tight line, his brows furrow and he’s trying,  _ he’s trying _ . The tears are going to burn Hunk’s palms and Hunk will never touch him again. Lance wants to fall into a coma so that he doesn’t  _ have  _ to try, so he doesn’t  _ have  _ to explain. He wants to be buried. He wants to crawl back into warm non-existence. He’d give anything to not be here.

A single stream falls from Lance’s eye and races down his cheek, seeps into the crevices of Hunk’s hand and Lance is cursing to himself because Hunk pulls away like the times his hands slip onto the stove.

“Lance,” Hunk pulls his bandanna down so it’s hung loose around his neck. Lance reaches to yank it back over Hunk’s eyes but Hunk catches his wrists and rests them on his chest. “ _ Lance.” _

“Don’t,” Lance rips away, presses his palms over Hunk’s eyes. Hunk doesn’t move them this time.

Lance falls into a fever-like state. He feels cold sweat singe his hairline and leave burns as they rush down his temples. Tears streak his red cheeks, puffy from holding his breath. His knees are trying to come together, trying to curl up against him. He feels dizzy. He feels sick. He’s hoping he’ll puke on Hunk’s chest because he could play hookie instead of having to explain his lovesick outburst.

“Lance,” Hunk breathes softly. His tone is too sweet, too much. Lance doesn’t want it. When Hunk reaches out to pull Lance close Lance jerks away from his touch. Hunk stutters and frowns. “…You can put the bandanna back over my eyes.”

He’s _too much_. Lance’s head feels heavy and stuffed, pressure pushing at his skull and making it hard to think. He doesn’t move, he _can’t_ move as he loses the hold on his lungs and weeps. His voice breaks as it rushes out of him and croaks on the intake. The pattern repeats as his breaths come quick and labored.

Hunk hesitates as he reaches up again. Lance knows what he’s trying to do; past panics have led to Lance’s head resting in Hunk’s lap and him combing his fingers through the tangles of his hair. Lance’s nails dig into Hunk’s forehead and Hunk lets his hands float in the space between them.

“Don’t… Don’t _touch me_!” Lance doesn’t mean to yell but it’s the only way his voice wants to come out. Small whimpers and sobs get caught in his throat and fed back to him and the ones that do make it out flow into louder cries. His eyes ache and he can feel his nose running down to his lip. He doesn’t want Hunk to see him like this. He doesn’t want Hunk to see him at all after this.

“Lance, please,” Hunk tries to soothe, slow in his movements as he eases his hands down to his bandanna. He glides it over his mouth and nose, lets Lance feel the fabric instead of himself as he does. Lance quakes more and doesn’t move. “I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Lance whimpers as he eases his hands away. It wouldn’t matter if Hunk kept true to his word or not, Lance can’t bring himself to look at him. He wraps his arms around himself and his fingers tug tight on the skin of his arms. His body lurches forward but then he’s yanking himself back, falls into an uneasy rock and quivering sounds and hiccups. Hunk lets his arms fall to the side, one hanging off the couch and the other on the backrest. Lance can’t see the way he twitches, as if going to hold him, then pulling back. He can’t see the orange bandanna being soaked through.

Lance is furious that he’s made something that used to feel so _right_ feel so wrong. 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a long while and wanted something sad. I'm sorry.


End file.
